Namesake
by Belfast Docks
Summary: He is protected by a man in a photograph.


**Author's Note:** I originally published this piece on a Harry Potter fanfiction site called Checkmated several years back. The site is pretty dead these days (most unfortunately, as it was a great one), and I decided to transfer this piece, as well as a few of my other HP fics, to ffnet in effort to maintain them in case Checkmated disappeared entirely. I should note that I've never read HP fanfiction on ffnet or any other HP fanfiction site, and relied on the betas and readers of Checkmated for advice and approval of originality. The piece was also beta'd, in accordance with Checkmated's regulations. Flames are ignored and reported to ffnet for deletion. Reviews naturally make any writer happy, however.

**Title:** _Namesake_

**Summary:** He is protected by a man in a photograph.

**Pairing:** Canon.

~BDocks

* * *

**Namesake**

I

The mantel is much too tall for you to see the photographs and clutter that line it, but you are barely three years old the first time you become eye-level with it. Daddy is holding you with one arm, while fishing for something in one of the large jars on top of the mantel with his other hand. He is looking for the powder that turns the fire green instead of orange, the powder that makes people spin in circles like the toy top you play with. Only the people disappear, and your toys do not.

It is then that you first see the photographs, all in variously different frames. The people in the pictures wave eagerly at you. They laugh and point and smile. You know them all fairly well, even though there are so many of them. They are uncles and aunts and grandparents and cousins that you see all the time.

But one of these people, you do not know.

He looks familiar, as though you are supposed to know him like you know all the rest, and he winks at you roguishly from the black and white print. You stare back, transfixed. The photograph is near the back of the mantel, almost hidden behind one of your grandparents. And though there are subtle differences, the man looks almost exactly like...

"Daddy?"

"Not right now, Imp." Daddy grins at you. "Daddy has to go to work. Places to go...people to hex."

You are handed over to Mummy before you can ask questions. They kiss between you – you wrinkle your nose and look back at the photograph. The man inside makes a gagging motion with his finger and mouth, and you laugh. If you knew him, you are sure you would like him. You wonder who he can be.

"Amused today, are we?" Mummy chuckles, and shifts you to her hip as she pulls away from Daddy.

"Amused is the best way for him _to_ be," Daddy says brightly. "See you at dinner!" With that, he throws the powder into the fire and the flames turn green. In a blink, he spins and is gone, and the flames are orange again.

"Well, I think we should get some breakfast, don't you?"

As Mummy turns to walk back into the kitchen with you in her arms, you look over her shoulder at the photograph.

And to your disappointment, the man has disappeared through the side of the frame. The picture is now empty.

II

When you are four years old, you discover the man in another photograph. This one is in a drawer in the living room sideboard, pushed out of sight under some odds and ends. You were snooping, and you found it by accident.

This picture is different than the one on the mantel. In this photograph, the man is standing beside your Daddy, and they are both laughing and waving at you. You wave back innocently, hardly knowing that they cannot see or hear you. You sit for a long time on the living room rug in the middle of a warm, deep golden sunbeam, staring at the photograph of the man and your Daddy.

Now you have found a secret: you know the place where you can see the man all the time. You are tall enough to reach the drawer in the sideboard whenever you want. You will look at the photograph every day if you must, because you are determined to know this one person you do not know yet...this one person out of so many in your huge family. You wonder why you have never seen him except in the photographs.

You are so intently staring at the man in the picture that you do not hear Mummy when she walks into the room. As she sits beside you on the floor, however, you jump as though burned. You are suddenly fearful; perhaps you have done something wrong. Perhaps you are not allowed to snoop in the sideboard or look at hidden pictures.

But Mummy pulls you close to her, and gently traces her finger on the man's face. Then she traces her finger on Daddy's face.

"Where did you find this, Imp?" she asks, using the play-name Daddy created for you.

"In the drawer," you confide, leaning against Mummy. She is silent then, and you both look at the photograph. You are glad Mummy isn't angry that you have found it.

After a moment you ask, "Who is he, Mummy?" You point to the man whom you feel you should know, like everyone else in the other photographs.

"That," Mummy says quietly, "is the second bravest man I ever met."

"Who is the first bravest, Mummy?"

Mummy hugs you close, and squeezes you extra-hard. Then she whispers, "Daddy."

"Why is Daddy the bravest, Mummy?" You look back at the photograph.

Sadly, Mummy points to the man you do not know. "Because Daddy must keep living without him," she says.

Then she tells you the man's name, and you are surprised.

"Why is he named that too, Mummy?"

"Because he was born long before you were, Imp!" She laughs. "You were named _after_ him."

The man waves at you and pushes Daddy aside in the photograph. Daddy pushes him back, and Mummy gently takes the picture from your small hands before a fight ensues within the frame. She lovingly replaces it in the drawer of the sideboard, and sighs softly as her gaze drifts out of the window to the meadow beyond.

You wish you understood what Mummy meant.

And you wish you knew why the photograph has been hidden away.

III

The birthday cake is huge, in the shape of a broomstick, and made by the most wonderful cook in the world: your grandmother.

"Oh, it's nothing, absolutely nothing," she is saying repeatedly to the other, older guests. But for absolutely nothing, her face certainly is awfully pink and she looks immensely pleased.

"You really outdid yourself, Mrs. Weasley," your uncle tells her. He doesn't look like the rest of your uncles. His hair is black. But he is one of your favorites, because he plays with you whenever he is visiting with your aunt who does look like the rest of your uncles.

"I don't know... that one she did for your seventeenth was pretty amazing."

"That's true!"

"Where should we put the presents?"

"Just over there at the end of the table, Ginny."

You look at the end of the table your grandmother is pointing to. It is already piled high with gifts in brightly colored paper. Some have stars, others have stripes – one box is glowing and another sparkles with a Dazzling Hex. You eagerly wonder what you will find inside all the boxes; what everyone has brought you. It isn't every day you turn five, after all.

Your cousins are told not to touch your gifts, because you didn't touch theirs when they last had a birthday. You all sit around the tables laughing and eating steak-and-kidney pie. And when dinner is finally over, Grandmamma cuts the cake. As you expect, it is delicious. You are completely unaware of time – time does not exist at the age of five, and certainly not on such a brilliantly bright day, full of sunshine and blue sky.

At last, Grandmamma says that you can open your presents.

Mummy has a camera. Daddy keeps telling her to lay off taking pictures of you, and you wish she would – the flash makes your eyes hurt.

You receive all sorts of amazing things, though. Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur have given you a little treasure chest with glowing jewels embedded in the sides, a special lock on the lid, and a fat gold Galleon within. Uncle Charlie sent you a model of a dragon that really flies. Aunt 'Mione and Uncle Ron have given you a bunch of children's books about Magic and a box of Honeydukes' chocolates. You open each gift and look in awe at the present within, and Mummy makes you say "thank you" a lot.

Not that you need to be told. The gifts are the best ever!

You finally reach the last gift. It is flat and long, and the tag reads that it is from Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny, James, Albus, and little Lily. When you tear it open, you cry out in delight.

It is what you have wanted ever since you knew what it was, ever since you were old enough to understand, and ever since you saw it in the toy store window in Diagon Alley.

It is a broomstick.

True – it is just a toy broomstick; not a real one like what Aunt Ginny used to fly to play real Quidditch. But it is still yours, and nicer than the dinky toy one you had when you were a real baby.

"Can I go try it out? Please? Please, Mummy, please?" you beg.

Mummy smiles. "After you say 'Thank you' to Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny."

"THANK YOU UNCLE HARRY AND AUNT GINNY!" you yell in happiness. Then you bolt from the table to the orchard beyond the gate, amidst the laughter of the adults around the table. You do not even hear the whines of your cousins who did not get toy broomsticks this wonderful, happy day. You also do not hear Mummy asking Uncle Harry how high the toy broomstick flies, or Uncle Harry's light reply that Mummy shouldn't worry – it won't go more than four feet in the air.

The orchard is empty. Your cousins are slow to follow you out here because Aunt Fleur wants to wipe icing from their faces.

The orchard is one of your favorite places, and you are glad you are alone for a minute. Aunt Ginny has taken you flying here before on her broomstick, and you sometimes watch your Aunt and Uncles play Quidditch games here.

In ecstasy you swing your leg over the little broomstick and kick off from the ground. The broom shoots up high enough so that your feet are off the grass, and you zoom over the meadow excitedly. The wind tosses your brown curls and the sun feels hot and pleasant on your face. You pretend you are a famous Quidditch player like Aunt Ginny was, scoring goals and hearing people cheer for you. You go faster, and you take one hand off the broom to play-act throwing a Quaffle through an imaginary hoop.

It happens in an instant. The toy broomstick isn't meant to be flown one-handed…it isn't like big-people broomsticks. It lurches, and you scream suddenly as your stomach dips unexpectedly. The ground looks further away than you thought, though you are no higher than the bushes that line the meadow, hiding it from the view of any potentially passing Muggles.

But as the toy flies into the tall grass, you realize that you have remained airborne, that you are stationary – as though someone has caught you and is holding you above the ground.

Perhaps it is Magic! Aunt 'Mione has explained that Magic shows itself in young children when it is least expected. You are suddenly excited again; eager for your family to see you in the air, saved by your inherent abilities, because it means you are not a Squib (not that anyone _ever_ thought you were, but just the same). You can hear them running towards you from the other side of the trees, shouting your name. They heard you scream and Mummy and Daddy sound scared. In a moment, they will see you in the air and then their fear will turn to excitement.

But before they arrive, your feet touch the ground lightly. You have been put down.

You turn to look behind you, and your eyes widen in surprise.

He is the man in the photograph.

The sun is bright – it makes the edges of his frame shimmer with light. You shield your eyes. It hurts to look at him too hard.

He winks at you.

"Don't want you getting hurt before you head off to Hogwarts, now do we?" he says brightly, his hands loosely jutting in the pockets of his trousers. "You'll be needed on the Gryffindor Quidditch team one day!"

You stare at him. You have never seen him before, except in the photographs…yet he is here, standing in front of you. He caught you before you fell off the broomstick.

Mummy and Daddy burst into the orchard, looking fearful. The rest of your Uncles and Aunts and Grandparents are behind them; their faces are also pale. But when Mummy sees you standing quiet and unhurt, she rushes forward, and bends down to hug you.

"Are you all right?" she asks quickly. Her words mush together and you can barely understand her. "Are you hurt? What happened? Did you fall?"

"No, Mummy."

Daddy kneels beside you. You look at his eyes. They are bright blue, like the sky. Mummy's eyes are brown, the color of dark chocolate.

"Did the broomstick attack you?" Daddy asks. He is smirking now. He is not scared anymore like Mummy is, because he sees that you are all right.

Mummy smacks his arm. "This is not a laughing matter!"

"He doesn't seem hurt," Daddy says innocently.

"I'm not! The man saved me before I fell."

"The man? What man?" Mummy looks confused.

Granddad stops behind Daddy. He is holding your little sister, but he seems to have forgotten her for the moment. Eagerly, he asks, "A man? You mean a Muggle?"

You can hear the excitement in his voice; it is like the excitement you felt when you unwrapped Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny's present. Granddad loves Muggles.

"No. He is in the photographs."

"What photographs?"

"He caught me before I fell. He's right here, see?"

You turn to beckon the man forward. They must know him. He was in the picture with your Daddy, after all. And Mummy said he was the second bravest man she ever knew.

But he is no longer behind you. The meadow is empty. The sun is eerily bright beyond the light green leaves of the trees, the grass is almost too vivid, and the birds are not singing. Everything is too quiet. The man is gone.

"He... he was right here..." Your voice falters, and you are suddenly scared. You do not understand why he left. You wanted to ask him questions. You wanted to get to know him like you know everyone else.

But perhaps you were alone in the orchard the entire time. Perhaps it was just Magic, after all.

Mummy and Daddy exchange glances. Mummy looks concerned. Daddy looks bemused.

"Maybe you're seeing ghosts," he suggests in a teasing voice.

"No, Daddy. He was real."

"Well then, that did he look like?"

You look away from Daddy, back at the empty void of air where the man stood. Your eyes become unfocused as you think back, remembering his smile and his easy stance, the way the wind blew his hair about his forehead.

"He looked nice."

"_Nice_?"

Mummy picks you up. "Enough," she says.

You know that tone. It means no more talking. Everyone begins to slowly walk back through the trees to the garden. Daddy makes sure to grab your new broomstick out of the grass.

"It was Magic," one of your cousins says in awe. "He'll get into Hogwarts for sure! He caught himself before he fell!"

Uncle Ron says in an exasperated voice, "You'll all get into Hogwarts. Now let's go back and eat some more cake. How about that, Rosie? Do you want another piece of cake?"

You squirm until Mummy finally lets you down. But she does not release your hand. You look back at the meadow again, hoping he will be there.

But the meadow is still empty and mysterious.

IV

At the age of seven, you are best friends with your cousin James Potter, who is the same age you are, and you do everything together if you are allowed. Sometimes, if you are both very good (which unfortunately doesn't seem to be very often), you are allowed to fly your broomsticks around the yard. You can't fly them at James' house – James lives in London with Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. But your house is in the country.

You are both excellent fliers, and you have even newer broomsticks now that you are older. Mummy gets annoyed when you fly too high, but you are not scared of falling anymore. The man in the photograph saved you from falling once, and you have convinced yourself that he is real even if no one else saw him that day. You have made sure that you do not tell anyone your secret: you have not even told James. No one believed you when you were five; they wouldn't believe you now, either.

But one day, James scares you. You have flown too high on purpose – almost to the top of the chimney – and as you dive back down, Mummy steps outside and accidentally sees you.

Mummy has a volatile temper.

You are grounded from flying for two solid weeks, and James laughs when Mummy angrily dishes out your punishment for flying above the trees where Muggles could possibly see you. She also tells you that you could have fallen and been killed. And instead of saying that she'll tell Daddy when he gets home, she does the worst possible thing _ever_ – she threatens to tell _Grandmamma_ if you ever do it again!

Sometimes, you like Daddy a lot better than Mummy.

After she storms back in the house with your broomstick clutched tightly in her hand, James looks at you sheepishly.

"You wouldn't have fallen."

"She doesn't believe that!" you argue. You are still angry – your broomstick is your most favorite possession!

"No, but I think someone was watching you."

"Huh?"

James looks up at the roof of the house again, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. "Maybe it was just the light," he shrugs. "But I thought..."

Your stomach lurches. Could James have seen _him_? No – it can't be true! The man in the photograph is _your_ secret! James can't see him, too!

"Just the light, I guess," James mumbles, squinting up at the roof. "Oh well. I thought it looked like a person was sitting on the roof watching you! Maybe it was a ghost!" He laughs, thinking it is a good joke.

But you do not find it funny, even though you usually love jokes.

"There are no ghosts here," you snap childishly. It is a feeble argument, but you don't want James to know that the man in the photograph is real to you. He would just laugh or tease you. He wouldn't understand.

"How do _you_ know?" James asks in a maddeningly superior voice. "Dad says there are ghosts at Hogwarts –"

"This isn't Hogwarts," you say firmly.

"BOYS! Stop arguing and come inside for lunch!" Mummy yells out the door. "And James, you leave that broomstick outside!"

Luckily for you, James does not mention what he saw again. Mummy's cheese sandwiches are enough to make him forget about anything but eating.

But you are not hungry. You wish you could have seen the man in the photograph today like James did. Why didn't he let you see him, too?

V

Time passes slow and fast, all at once.

It has been six years since the day in the meadow when you first saw the man. But you have not forgotten. When no one is home, or when you are alone, you pull the old photograph from the sideboard and stare. You stare until your eyes are dry and you must blink.

You wish you could have known him, like you know all the other members of your family, because you have since learned all about him. They told you the story several years ago and you wish more than ever that you knew him.

And now you are packing your trunk in your room, because tomorrow you are going to Hogwarts. You have a new wand: it is eleven inches long and has a Phoenix feather in the middle, made of oak and it is solid and unbending. Mr. Ollivander said it would be very good for Transfiguration. He also said it was "curious" that the wand had a phoenix feather inside, given what your name is, and how wands "always seemed to know these things".

You hope you are good in school, because school is something you have always looked forward to. You want to do Magic like Mum and Dad.

You pause in packing and glance at your desk. Unknown to Mum and Dad, you have stolen the photograph of Dad and the man earlier in the day when Mum was in the kitchen making lunch. You pick it up from your desktop and look at it. The man and your Dad wave at you. Carefully, you place the photograph amongst the things in your trunk, along with your schoolbooks and parchments and quills and robes. For some reason, you want the man to come with you to school.

VI

The Hogwarts Express is moving quickly. James is positive he will be in Gryffindor, and you must admit to yourself that you are also sure this is where you will be Sorted.

After all, _he_ was a Gryffindor. You will be brave like he was. You have vowed this before you stepped onto the train.

The day flies by. You are surprised to arrive at Hogwarts after dark, and you smile impishly (though you do not know it) at Hagrid. He shakes his head and says he can see you are the offspring of your father, for sure.

This pleases you. You have a feeling the man in the photograph is pleased, too.

Then he looks at James and dryly remarks that he can see another pair of troublemakers just waiting to give the professors seven years of grief. You and James only laugh and follow him down to the boats that will take you to the castle.

Before you know it, you are standing among a line of other first years waiting to be Sorted. You are not nervous like the other children are. The girl beside you is trembling. But you already know where the Hat will put you.

When your name is called, you step forward and eagerly put the Hat on. Just as you expect, it barely touches your head before it screams, "GRYFFINDOR!" for the entire Great Hall to hear. As you lift it off and hurry towards the cheering Gryffindor table, you see him again for the second time in your life.

Your heart skips a beat.

He is smiling at you, waving from behind Teddy Lupin and your cousin Victoire. He grins hugely and he winks at you. But after you sit down beside James and turn to find him again, he is gone.

You wish he wouldn't run away so quickly. You have not seen him for so long, and you have _so many_ questions to ask.

But he does not reappear.

VII

You rush to classes, you hurry to flying lessons (as if you needed them!), and teachers repeatedly tell you to stop causing mischief. But you barely realize you_are_ causing mischief..._most_ of the time, anyways. After all, you didn't _mean_ to make Beth's long braids grow even longer in Transfiguration, but Professor Towler does not accept this as a justifiable excuse. And you didn't _mean_ to drop a Dung Bomb in the fourth floor corridor as you rushed to Charms…it just fell from your pocket accidentally. You even wondered if someone pulled it from your pocket, but James swears he did not.

Your first and second years are both full of these fun mysteries. Sometimes you are conscious of your mischief...but other times, you are really baffled by how things happen. You wonder if it is something unconsciously magical, because you _know_ you haven't done _half_ of the things that happen around you, even though you wish you had.

James is, of course, your partner in crime – Hagrid constantly complains by your third year that you are just like several other twosomes of students who previously passed through Hogwarts. You know their names because they are so common among your family's tales of adventures. One of them is the name of the man in the photograph.

Sometimes you stare at the photograph at night, after your mates have gone to sleep, and you wish he were here to guide you through school and help you with your homework. Sometimes you wake extra-early just to wander onto the grounds on crisp, foggy Saturday mornings, all alone, to look at the marble markers and trace his familiar name with your cold fingertips. Sometimes at night, you even ask James if you can borrow his incredible cloak and you sneak to that famous swamp and stare at it for hours. You wish you had known him. You wish it more than anything.

VIII

By your fourth year, the odd occurrences are not happening quite as much, and you are now _deliberately_ causing as much mayhem with James as you possibly can. Detention is just another class to you, and it pisses Mum off a good deal that you are in detention more than you are not. Dad doesn't seem to care one way or the other – and he certainly doesn't scold you for it. Sometimes when you are in detention, filing stupid papers for Filch or scrubbing desks for Vector, you pretend you are having a silent conversation with the man in the photograph, while he chuckles as you break your back for some silly prank that came off wonderfully.

And when you _aren't_ in detention or causing mischief, you and James are both reserve Chasers on the Gryffindor team. You wish you could fly constantly. Stupid Vic McFarland was daft when he took Wesley Bates and Stephen Fitzwilliam instead of the two of you. James thinks Vic did it on purpose; he overheard McFarland sneering to that snob Holly Wright that he wouldn't have a Weasley on his team if he could help it; he didn't accept Louis either, even though he flies better than anyone on the current team. When you found that out, you hit McFarland with an excellent hex Dad had found over the summer holidays doing research for a new product. Even though McFarland is three years older than you are, it puts him in the Hospital Wing for nearly an entire day.

James thinks you are brilliant for doing it.

Professor Longbottom, on the other hand, gives you sharp looks for a week because he _knows_ you are responsible, yet he has no way to prove otherwise.

You write Dad to tell him the hex works brilliantly, and the return letter is one of intense pride.

IX

By fifth year, McFarland is gone and Louis has been given the Captaincy, thank_Merlin_. Other Houses soon sarcastically joke that he has _obviously_ packed the Gryffindor team with his own relatives and he wasn't even _on_ the team the previous year. You become a Chaser alongside James, and Al is the new Seeker (replacing the horrid Trent West who couldn't catch a flobberworm if he tried).

And despite the sneers, Gryffindor takes the Quidditch Cup at the end of the year, beating Slytherin 460 to 340. You and James and the rest of the team are heroes, and the celebration is enough to make your ego bigger than it already is.

But, because you practiced Quidditch so hard during the year, you hardly had time to think about the man in the photograph. And you certainly didn't have time to pretend he was watching you while you were making spectacular goals...or even when you were in class pulling pranks – like making Darcy's cauldron explode in Potions, or the time you started that fantastic food fight in the Great Hall, which earned you detention every Friday night for the rest of the year. (Never mind that even Professor Longbottom told you it was the most fun he'd seen in a long time...and you _swear_ you saw him throw a dinner roll at Professor Vaisey, but he stubbornly denies it).

And despite all of this, the man in the photograph still waves at you when you pack him into your trunk to go home for the summer holidays.

You guiltily wish you had waved back more often.

X

Longbottom swears, as you enter your sixth year, that you will cause him to have a heart attack and die, and that it will all be on your head when this happens. He just wants to make you feel guilty about everything you've done, and it never works.

By this year, you have almost forgotten the man in the photograph. His picture stays by your bedside constantly, but you still forget to look at him before class and wink back at him, and you certainly never see him waving to you from behind other students like he did the night you were Sorted. You even wonder once or twice if it was all in your imagination – the childish dreams of meeting someone you never knew and pretending they were there all along, even though they never were. And you have many other things to think about...excessive schoolwork, N.E.W.T.'s in a year…and definitely girls. Who knew that all the girls in your year would turn into such sexy women with breasts and great arses? You flirt constantly, and James is even worse.

It seems your sixth year is the year that things really start to take place – and not always the good things, like girls.

It is your sixth year that Longbottom finds the picture and changes your perspective on everything.

He had only come up to the dormitory to find James so they could discuss the March Quidditch game against Ravenclaw. After James handed him the parchment with the line-up information, Professor Longbottom glanced at the photograph on your bedside table. The man winked and laughed at him from his frame.

He would, of course.

For a few moments, Longbottom just stared at the photograph as if he had been Stunned or transfixed. Your Dad had left the side of the frame, and the man was alone.

"Is something wrong, Professor?" James asked. He probably thought you had done something to earn another detention, the git.

And then it happened.

You saw the brief flash of pain and sadness in Professor Longbottom's eyes and in the lines of his face, and you suddenly realized with overwhelming horror what a prat you are sometimes. Longbottom has been through a lot in his lifetime...a lot more than you will _ever_ experience. He _knew_ him. He knows the story as if it happened all over again right then – he was there, he had to walk by his body in the Great Hall that night, offering condolences to your family, he had to carry in the dead from the grounds, he had to defy Voldemort and kill some bloody snake. If the man in the photograph were alive, Longbottom would not have looked at the picture the way he did. He would not be making you feel guilty for all the pranks you've ever pulled, all the jokes you've cracked – a feat he had never accomplished before the moment when he saw the photograph beside your bed.

After a few long seconds, he shook his head and turned away. "No, James. Nothing is wrong," he murmured, before leaving the dormitory.

You glanced sadly at the man in the photograph, but he merely rolled his eyes and shrugged the whole thing off.

But you couldn't.

You suddenly felt wretched...but you didn't know exactly why.

XI

He finds you that night leaning on the railing around the swamp, staring at the murky water and the log that juts up strangely against the moonlight. You wish the man in the photograph were here to tell you what an idiot you are being; to go back to bed and stop wishing for things that can't happen. You also need him to tell you to stop feeling guilty for pulling silly pranks and earning detentions. After all, those things are part of your reputation and personality – they define who you are, and they defined who _he_ was.

You don't even realize that someone is behind you until he speaks.

"He was really quite brilliant. I could never understand how he only achieved three O.W.L.S. his fifth year. He had other ambitions, I suppose."

When you jump, he says kindly, "Don't worry. I'll pretend I never saw you out after midnight, and forgo the detention this time."

You slowly relax and slouch against the railing again. Professors can be so confusing, sometimes.

He continues to stand behind you, silent and pensive. And before you know it, the emotions you have felt for years slowly bubble to the surface. You feel stupid and childish, and you hate yourself for it.

After a few seconds, you admit in a small voice quite unlike your usual loud, boisterous one, "No one knows how badly I wish I knew him. It kills me. I can't even _imagine_ what it does to my Dad."

"He would have liked you more than any of the others. You would have been his favorite. I'm sure of _that_."

"I know."

"And he probably would have taught you more than you know even now," he adds. "And made my life worse for it, thinking it was some hysterically funny joke."

You look at him, and give him your trademark impish smile. "Probably."

His shoulders drop slightly and he sighs as he looks into the muddy water.

You know he is only a couple of years younger than your parents, but at this moment, he looks as if he has lived for centuries. There are lines on his face that are so often hidden behind the cheerful smiles. The idea of age suddenly scares you. The idea of death scares you worse. You are only sixteen...but tonight you are growing up. It is happening too quickly, too painfully. You hate it. You want to be a kid again...hexing the Slytherins in Care of Magical Creatures because they bad-mouthed Hagrid, and earning a night of toilet scrubbing for it. You don't want to feel old and scared and grown up. It is too overwhelming...when did the man in the photograph feel like this? When did _he_become a man?

You always thought that becoming a man would mean that you had shagged a girl. Now you start to wonder if it means something entirely different. Your heart feels as though it would burst into millions of pieces, it hurts so badly. Your head drops to your chest, and you grip the railing hard. You want the pain to stop. If you hurt your hands by gripping the railing too hard, maybe the pain will just stop.

"I'm sure he wishes he were here to know you, too," he says quietly, breaking the sudden onrush of thoughts and emotions that have crowded your brain and heart too fast. He touches your shoulder. "Why don't you go on back to Gryffindor Tower? He would not want you to dwell on a past you never knew. And besides, undoubtedly, James will be wondering where you are." He smirks just enough for you to see his mouth curve upward. "He probably thinks you took that cloak of his and disappeared without him."

You shake your head at the reference to the cloak, not even bothering to question how Longbottom knows so much about your extra-curricular activities. "I wouldn't take the cloak without James knowing. That's his inheritance." You look back at the plaque above the small bit of swamp; the first name listed on it is hidden in shadow. "Mine is something else."

"Part of him is in you," he replies, nodding at the plaque. "And always will be."

You swallow and fight back tears. Why are you so attached to someone you've never known? Why do you wish more than anything else in the world that you could see him, bring him back? If you could have one wish, it would not be for more power, more magic, or more abilities in Quidditch.

Longbottom's voice jars you.

"Go on back to bed. Ages ago, Harry told me that a very wise man once said, _'It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live'_."

XII

It is the final game of your seventh year season – your last-ever Quidditch match at Hogwarts. The man in the photograph is the last thing on your mind right now. James is snarling at you in a timeout because you let Willie Benson of Hufflepuff take the Quaffle, and oh, bloody hell, are you snarling back. You certainly didn't _mean_ to let it happen, but James does not believe you.

The crowds are roaring behind you, making it hard to hear what James is shouting. Or maybe you can't hear him because you're shouting, too. Al is wincing and desperately trying not to get involved, and the rest of the team is keeping several feet of distance. After all, you and James rarely fight – but when you do, it is spectacular.

Lily is the only one brave enough to put an end to the entire thing by stepping between you; her slight figure may look small, but she can cast hexes worse than either of you. You sometimes wonder why Aunt Ginny doesn't help Dad with the shop. It's obvious Lily gets it from her Mum.

"_Shut up_, damn it, or I _will_ curse you both into next year! It was a mistake, James! Get over it! We _all_ make mistakes playing Quidditch sometimes!" She jabs her wand sharply into James' chest, and he backs up, breathing hard and glaring at you with glittering eyes. He is determined to win this match and make history before he leaves Hogwarts – he has been like this for more than a year. You suddenly and painfully wonder how you never noticed before now that you and James are going in opposite directions, and have been since your sixth year...

Since the night Longbottom had that talk with you in front of the swamp.

Since the night you decided you needed to start growing up.

James is more focused on Quidditch, girls, and causing mayhem. You are still mischievous – you have a joke shop to inherit, after all! But James will go on to do other things, and you have toned down more. You have stopped hexing people in the corridors for fun, and stopped the devilish pranks that could hurt people. You felt you owed that much to Longbottom…and to your family.

You realize how bitter James is at you for the subtle change.

And the match is straining your friendship even more.

James rounds on Lily. "You aren't the Captain of this team, no matter how much you wish you were," he growls. "Back off, Lil! It's my duty to pull someone aside if they're playing like shite!"

"Don't you dare yell at her that way," Al says sharply. He doesn't often explode, but James is the only person in the world who can set his normally non-existent temper off. "You're the one being a bloody prat, James. Fred didn't mean to let Benson take the Quaffle –"

James almost draws his wand on Al, but Al is faster.

"Stop it, all of you!" Hugo shouts. "All of our parents are up there in the stands watching this match, and you know perfectly well that your Dad will storm down here and make you sorry if you start a duel on the Quidditch Pitch with your brother, James! And don't think he'll blame Al – you know better than _that_!"

James twitches convulsively, and you have an urge to hit him that you must master quickly. You've never wanted to hit your best friend, but if it weren't for the rest of your family and teammates, you would have done so already.

You can see the bonds between you breaking, just over a Quidditch match.

He doesn't realize you want to win it as badly as he does.

And he's known you since you were too young to talk.

Sean Finnegan, the other Beater, hisses, "Gates is walking over here! If she sees those wands out she'll kick us out of the game and Hufflepuff will win by default!"

Lily quickly stows her wand away in her robes as Professor Gates, retired Falcons' Chaser turned Flying Professor and Coach, approaches the Gryffindor team.

"Ready to go back up?" she asks, her beady eyes resting on James.

"Yes," he says curtly. As she turns away to blow her whistle, he adds in a sharp whisper to you, "If you drop it again, you're out. I don't care if you are my best mate. I'll bring on Thomas from reserve."

"You do and I swear I'll kill you," you snarl back. Hugo shoves you apart from James as he breaks between you and mounts his Comet Nebula.

"Both of you shut up!" he snaps over his shoulder.

The whistle blows, and you are all in the air again before James can rebuke Hugo. The day is bright and sunny, and the wind cools your hot face. You are glad your skin is the color of light cocoa – it prevents James from seeing any flush. And he's about as red as Uncle Ron can get sometimes, as he ducks under you to take the Quaffle from Peterson of Hufflepuff.

But instead of passing the ball to you, he tosses backwards to Ackerly, though Ackerly is in the rear of the formation and you are now beside James. You can hear Malcolm McLaggen with his infernal megaphone, drawling something about the best way to lose a Quidditch match would be fighting with your best friend, who is also on the team and obviously not there because of talent...and adding something about dropping Quaffles unnecessarily. Your neck heats angrily. You suddenly have plans to jinx both him _and_ James.

But the next few minutes happen in such a blur that you barely remember them, and you forget all about jinxing.

You hear McLaggen shout something about Potter diving for the Snitch. You see the Quaffle coming to you from Ackerly, who doesn't have the grudge against you that James has at the moment. There are no problems with the score – if Al catches the snitch, Gryffindor will win the match and the cup. You have all been playing great up until ten minutes prior.

Al must be very close, because the crowd takes an upswing in noise.

And then, Benson rams you from the side.

You weren't expecting him, or even looking for him, because you were paying more attention to Applegate and Ackerly, who were dodging each other, and wondering how you were going to get the Quaffle back to Ackerly without Applegate interceding.

But when Benson hits you, the Quaffle doesn't matter as it slips from your hands.

You are slipping from your broom.

McLaggen snarls something about Potter catching the Snitch and Gryffindor winning the game. The crowd is roaring even louder.

And you are suddenly falling. Your broomstick hovers for a moment before it follows you, and you are falling further away from it.

It feels like slow motion.

The sky is so blue, so bright. There are little puffy clouds embedded in the enamel. The sun is blinding. You see your red robes catching the breeze like sails as you plummet; your hand is outstretched as if you could still catch your broom and get back on.

James skids to a halt in midair and stares back at you. His face is suddenly ashen; you wonder how far the ground is. He is still your best friend – that split second as you see his expression confirms it.

People are screaming. The noise is distant, as if the air around you was silent, and you are hearing the screams through a barrier.

You see Hugo making a sharp turn in midair and he begins to dive for you, but he is still too far to reach you in time. His face is white. You never noticed how many freckles he has.

Then you close your eyes and brace yourself. You are going to die; you are sure of it. You briefly wonder if you can meet him…meet the man from the photograph...after it happens. At least dying would be worth that much. You would finally see him for real.

And suddenly, someone grabs your robes.

Your body twists in midair and you are instantly facing the ground. Your eyes snap open. It is no more than eight feet below you. You are shocked and sick to find that it is so near. You have fallen nearly forty feet through the air in only a few, heart-stopping seconds, and not the eternity that it seemed.

You struggle, glancing over your shoulder expecting to see Hugo gripping the back of your Quidditch robes with all he has.

But instead, you see the man from the photograph.

His face is just as pale as Hugo's, but his eyes are an over-bright blue and his vivid hair is tousled in the wind. He is on your broom.

You both drop to the ground.

It hurts like hell – but nothing is broken. The stop in motion saved your life. The screams of the crowd and your teammates become real and not distant.

You are gasping for breath as you quickly push to your hands and knees. Your body aches and your adrenaline is too high. You can hear Professor Gates yelling at Benson for nearly killing you; he is earning detention for the entire next year. He is complaining that he never meant to try and kill you, and that he was only trying to get the Quaffle.

As you struggle to your feet, the man helps you up. You grip his arm for support, and you stare at him.

He looks exhilarated, though terrified. You can see yourself in his eyes, and Dad, too.

"Thought I was going to lose you there for a second," he says, a grin cracking on his wide mouth despite the fear. "You were a hell of a lot higher up than that time you were five! Reminds me of the time Harry nearly bit it falling off _his_broom."

You can vaguely hear Lily screaming as she comes running from the Gryffindor goalposts, ripping her Keeper's gloves off as she hurtles along. You are not looking at her, but you can practically see her long red hair streaming behind her in the sharp breeze.

"Why?" you ask blankly. You do not even know what you are asking. You feel sick, as though you want to retch from the whole experience. Right now.

His face sobers. "Your Dad can't lose us both, Freddie."

Lily is almost there, shouting your name. You can hear Hugo, Sean, Ackerly, Al, and James coming from other directions. From the corner of your vision, you know your parents, aunts, and uncles are running to you as well.

"Stay safe," he whispers urgently. "You're seventeen now. But don't grow up too fast, or your Dad and I will be incredibly disappointed!"

"You mean I lose you just because I'm seventeen?" Your voice sounds panicked, like a child's voice. You are terrified of what just happened, and you are more terrified of losing him.

"You're of age now. You don't need me anymore. But I love you, Freddie. You're my favorite!" He beams at you; the sun around his body makes him hard to look at. "Don't forget it."

His form starts to fade, he winks, and Lily runs right through him.

Just like that, he vanishes.

Lily is clutching at you, breathing hard, sobbing, and someone impacts you from behind. Mum's voice is suddenly in your ear, begging you to tell her if you are all right, and asking what is broken. Roxie is sobbing and clutching your waist; her Gryffindor rosette is crumpled against her robes. You can hardly answer the bombardment of questions. You hear Hugo insisting to the others that he couldn't catch you but that he tried, that he _really tried_, but his broom wouldn't go any faster – he couldn't bear anyone to believe he would let you fall without trying to save your life. Somewhere in the back of your brain, you register the knowledge that Uncle Ron will probably be buying his son a new broomstick as soon as summer begins – one that has a higher 0-60 then Hugo's current Comet Nebula – just because of what has just happened.

You can also hear James apologizing repeatedly…he feels this is entirely his fault. He is trying to get your attention, but you can't look at him yet.

Your eyes are still staring through the air where _he_ was. He saved your life. Again. He was your guardian, and he has been all along.

After a few confusing seconds, someone wrenches you free of your teammates and family, and you find yourself staring into Dad's white face.

"What happened? How did you stop yourself from falling? You were falling, and you...you...you just _stopped_ –"

You can hear the fear and panic and terror in his voice. He is speaking so fast he is hardly making sense.

He thought you were going to die, too.

"Harry!" Mum's voice is high-pitched as she whirls to face the large crowd gathering around you. "Did you slow him down?"

"No, I couldn't get a clear shot with everyone in the way!"

"Neville, did you?"

"I couldn't get onto the field fast enough, Angelina, or I would have! I was trying –"

"Who slowed him down?" The question begins to echo through the field, as if the stadium itself might give the answer, but when nothing happens, everyone finally stops asking and looks at you again.

After a moment, you look at Dad. He is still gripping your arms painfully hard, as if he is afraid you will vanish if he releases you.

You pause, and take a deep breath. You are sure no one will believe you, but if anyone will, it would be your Dad. Your voice is shaky as you explain.

"_He_ caught me. Before I hit the ground. He's caught me before, too – when I was five. Do you remember that? I fell off that toy broomstick in the orchard, on my birthday? But...he can't be here for me anymore. I'm... I'm seventeen now," you finish lamely. The idea causes a pang of aching hurt to shoot through your body. He will never come back, because you can take care of yourself now.

Mum looks terrified – she must think you have a head injury.

"Whom are you talking about?" Dad demands.

You are so downcast that you hardly hear the question. You mumble, "_Him_. He's been watching me for seventeen years. I didn't realize it, or I would have tried to find him more often. I've lost him forever now. He can't be with me any more."

Dad looks bewildered.

"He needs the hospital wing –" Mum urges.

You cut her off. "No, I don't." Then you look at dad, and whisper. "You know. Uncle..."

You cannot say the name – your name.

His name.

So you just barrel on and look away; the expression on Dad's face is enough to show you that it has dawned on him who you are referring to.

"He saved my life. He caught me before I hit the ground. And now he's gone forever." You close your eyes tightly, and feel tears burning the back of your lashes. You press your fists tightly between your eyes, desperately trying to stop the hot pricks. You don't want to cry, not here, not now, not in front of the entire school – an entire school that thinks of you as the prankster of the current generation and saw you fall to what should have been your death.

But before the tears can spill out, Dad suddenly pulls you into a tight, hard hug. You instinctively bury your face in his shoulder and grip the back of his shirt. You feel like you are five again. But this hurts much worse.

In a small voice, you whisper, "Did you know I stole a picture of him from home when I first came to Hogwarts? I kept him by my bed every year, and pretended he was with me, and he really was and I never really knew it until now. I always thought back then that I was making it up." You swallow hard, fighting the tears. "If I could have _one wish_ –"

Dad shakes you roughly, and then holds you even more tightly. You hear the tears in his voice as well; they are choking the words as he whispers back to you.

"I know, Freddie. It's my one wish, too."

For a long moment, he holds you. When he finally pulls away and looks at you, he sighs deeply. He looks older.

You wipe your tears away furiously. "He said I was his favorite," you whisper.

And then, instantly, as if you have said magic words, he suddenly grins. "I don't doubt it!" And the thought must be humorous, because he starts to laugh – the sound is strange, but it has an effect on you like nothing else has. Suddenly, you begin to laugh with Dad, and then you are both laughing so hard that neither of you can stop.

Mum and Roxie must think you're both insane. Mum looks as though she's been hit with a Bludger.

But it doesn't matter. Dad understands.

"He was really crazy," Dad admits as he tries to stop laughing. It is odd to hear him talk about this; he rarely does. He grins widely at you. "He would have thought you were bloody amazing for all the things you've pulled off the last seven years!"

"I used to think he would follow me in the corridors and pull pranks without my knowing it, and I would get in trouble for them."

Dad looks proud, and someone puts a hand on your shoulder. Startled, you remember that there is a crowd around you. When you look behind you, Uncle Harry smiles at you. "He probably did," he says softly. "Freddie, do you really think the dead leave us forever? Someone once told me that, and I didn't quite believe it then...but I do now." He smiles, in a very bittersweet way. "Your Uncle Fred was always with you, and he always will be. Part of him lives inside of you."

"I told him that once." Professor Longbottom chuckles. "He didn't believe me."

"I do now," you confess. "If you've taught me nothing else, I remember _that_."

"I believe I also told you something else that night, Fred. Do you remember, or do you I have to remind you again?"

For a split second, the terrifying fall has faded from your mind, and you think of the joke shop that you will start helping with full time this summer. One day it will be yours, and he would wish it to be that way. You have other things to think about now, than wishing for dreams that can't come true. You know the difference between dreams and reality. You smile at Longbottom.

"A wise man once said –?"

Uncle Harry recites the second part with you.

"_It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live_."

"Dumbledore told me that." Uncle Harry chuckles.

Professor Longbottom's expression becomes grave. "And rarely has anything been said with so much truth."

The weight you've felt for so long suddenly lifts from your heart. You are ready to live. You don't need to dwell on the dead any longer.

**FIN**

* * *

**Post-Notes:** As I mentioned in my original notes when I first posted this piece on Checkmated, I do not picture Fred Weasley as a ghost so much as a guardian, which was why I had him appear to Fred Weasley II in color instead of transparent.

~BDocks


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